


Spill

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beer, Blow Jobs, Castiel Talks Dirty (Supernatural), Choking, Clumsy Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Embarrassed Dean Winchester, Embarrassment, Facials, Gardener Castiel (Supernatural), Hair-pulling, Interrupting Sam Winchester, Kitchen Sex, Light Choking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, References to Stay-at-Home orders, Sam Winchester is Scarred For Life, Semi-Public Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean always thought it would take more to force him into retirement. Yet here he is, locked in the Bunker until the world figures out a cure for a deadly virus. It could be worse - at least they have a home. He cannot imagine how worse it would be if this happened years earlier, where he and Sam were trapped in a tiny motel room together. Here they have options, and miles of outdoor space they can stroll through if their options become stale.And they were beginning to. Dean could only do so much indoors. Dean knew he needed to shake things up, but couldn't begin thinking how. Luckily Castiel has an idea, and gives him a new way of looking at their kitchen.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	Spill

**Author's Note:**

> So, months ago, I would not have thought I would be posting a fic so soon after May 18th but things change lol. This was inspired by the most recent clip from the s15 gag reel, seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0amXFZ44FY
> 
> Although I took the goofing around MUCH farther 😉
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean hears the faucet first. Slows his hurried steps into the kitchen once he realizes someone is already inside. Instead of the frantic jog, Dean enters at a normal pace. Although that turns into a stumbled stop when Dean sees who stands by the running water.

Castiel glances up, brow raised. Dirt streaked across his face, up his arms, and all over his clothes. The gray fabric of his snug tee darkened by both that and sweat highlighting the curves of his muscles. Jeans hanging from his hips, a peek of orange underwear catching Dean’s eye. Dean cannot linger there so he forces himself down and notices how the fraying hems overhang on his bare feet. He spots muddied boots not far from where the other man stands, socks bunched up in one. “Hello, Dean,” he says, “are you looking for something?”

Talking is difficult. His already dry throat worsens. He licks at the sand sticking to the corners of his lips. “Need a beer.”

“Then by all means,” Castiel nods his head at the refrigerator, “I’m not stopping you.”

Dean waits. Signals cross in their haste, his arms making an aborted reach. When they settle at his side Dean finds his legs moving. He walks two steps and pauses again at the fork.

If he goes the shorter way, risks entering Castiel’s orbit, he will undoubtedly find himself trapped. But curving around the island would garner unwanted suspicioun. Why make the extra effort if the first route was quicker?

Castiel watches him now, Dean taking too long in his thoughts. He chooses the former option and steels his will.

All hope evaporates when Dean’s hand brushes against Castiel’s ass in an unavoidable collision. “Sorry,” he says, beaming, “I thought you were past me already.”

“No, ah – not there yet,” Dean coughs, scratches his cheek, “but I’m close!” He chuckles lamely. Tapers off when Castiel stays silent. Dean turns and finishes the mission. Grabs his beer and shuts the refrigerator door with a sigh. But he doesn’t leave. Not yet. “What, ah,” he points at Castiel with the neck of the bottle, “what were you doing?”

Castiel glances at his state and shrugs. “If I told you I was mud wrestling, would you believe me?” The image nearly causes a trip to the infirmary, his grip on the bottle tighter than necessary. Recommended if he wanted glass shards in his hands. “No,” Castiel continues, “I saw that today’s weather called for clear skies and sun. What with the whole stay-at-home orders forcing us into semi-retirement I figured now would be the perfect time to clear off that patch of space. You know, the one we talked about.”

Dean remembers. Castiel’s eyes glowed without aid from his grace, picturing the different kinds of plants he could grow. Planning where they would go and how it would all look. From conception to helping him buy supplies at Home Depot, Dean helplessly followed Castiel. Lost in his excitement, the tides of it washing him further out into the bottomless seas of Dean’s affection.

“What I managed to get done, however, was make a mess all over myself.” Castiel held up his one arm as proof, tan skin hidden by patches of filth. “I think planting will be better served for another day.” Castiel frowns, then, skewing his head. Eyes staring through each and every wall Dean built. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know…” he waves his beer, “getting a drink.” Dean finally notices the scant amount of space left between them, Castiel drifting closer at some point. “That I’m… I’m going to drink. So…” He holds the bottle up higher in mock cheers, then opens it. Except his eyes stay with Castiel’s, locked together.

Castiel has no problem breaking their contest. He glances down, frown deepening with a sigh. Dean trails after and sees what happened.

His beer. Unknowingly, when he opened it, some of the drink bubbled up and spilled out of its mouth. With Castiel close, some of it splashed on his feet. “Shit,” Dean pulls the bottle closer, wincing, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You really should be more careful Dean,” Castiel says. He gestures at the small puddle, “who’s going to clean that up now?”

“I… I -uh…” Dean had an answer. He did. Then Castiel met his gaze again, this time with furrowed brows and piercing intensity, and the words joined the puddle on the floor. Dean grinned, expression dopey, and blew on the remaining fizz to ease the tension. “Ha?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Idiot…” muttered fondly under breath. He folds his arms over his chest, shifting. Stares at the bottle. “Well?” he asks, “Are you going to drink what’s left? If you were feeling left out in being dirty, I’m sure there were other methods you could have used that didn’t waste beer.” Something glints under Castiel’s eyes after his comment, that startled him.

A nervous giggle eases free from Dean’s lips before slamming shut into a half-smirk. He brings the bottle up to his mouth and drinks. Although only Castiel’s raven tufts stay in his line of sight, Dean feels the ever-warm gaze of his friend on him. Studying him, thinking.

There’s more warmth, as Dean feels Castiel’s calloused fingers slide up his neck and squeeze under his jaw. Dean chokes slightly, beer swishing inside his mouth. Blocked, dammed by outside pressure. “Cas?” he asks, gargling his name.

“Keep drinking Dean,” Castiel tells him. Whispers, his free hand stroking Dean’s hair, “Go on. Keep drinking.”

Dean tries lowering the bottle. Where Castiel’s arm sat, he cannot bring it fully down. Concerned he switches course, searching for an answer in his friend’s face. Nothing he understands waits for him in the calm smile or unwrinkled skin. When he sees his eyes, Castiel’s normal blue a thin ring around large, black pupils, Dean gets it.

He nods, wrapping his lips more firmly around the bottle. Beer flows from the glass and into his mouth, cheeks puffing up with drink that circles the drain without going down. His eyes water from the stretch. Dean feels his Adam’s apple bobbing, swallowing more on instinct than by choice. Darkness swirls at his vision as the need for air rears its head.

With a single cough, it’s over. Dean splutters, bottle pulled away while beer waterfalls out his mouth and onto the floor again. Hacking, gasping, Dean wipes at his chin. Where he feels what little he caught there drying and leaving his skin tacky. Castiel hums, the hand on his neck featherlight while the other continues stroking Dean’s hair. “You happy?”

“Are you?”

“What?” Dean clears his throat, glaring at Castiel. Holding onto the island otherwise he would fall into the lake of El Sol.

“Are you happy with your drink, Dean?” Castiel asks.

He scoffs, coughing again. “Maybe if I had a chance to actually drink it instead of spitting it back up like some virgin…” Dean blushes, squeezing the empty bottle.

Castiel shrugs. “How unfortunate…” The gentle scratching at his head turns painful when he grabs a handful of Dean’s hair, an edge of pleasure hovering behind the bite. “I guess the next mess we make… it should be enjoyable for both of us.” He winks, and then uses the hand that once held Dean’s neck to instead squeeze at his junk.

There was no mistaking the message.

Still, Dean glanced up at Castiel with wide eyes. He runs his tongue over already sticky lips, “You mean…?” Castiel tilts his head again, smiling wide enough his gums showed.

Dean dropped with enough speed he made a splash. On autopilot, Dean works Castiel’s cock free with professional carelessness. A man with ten-thousand hours of experience, memories imprinted on the muscles over the years. A master.

He pushes the jeans low at his knees, and then pushes Castiel up against the island. Castiel groans, tugging on Dean’s hair and coaxing a whine from him. “Good, Dean,” he slurs, one foot sliding forward because of the messy puddle they chose to do this in, “Please…” Dean guides his free hand, the one seizing at his side, up onto the island for support. Finally, he slides fingers around the other man’s cock.

It’s difficult. Dried beer is not a good substitute for lube. So, after three unsuccessful jerks with his yeasty hand, Dean lets go and swallows Castiel whole. Castiel seizes under him, a leg jumping up and splashing more of the puddle everywhere. There’s another round of hair pulling, enough Dean closes his eyes and sees constellations forming in the shadows.

“You’re such a good little cocksucker, Dean,” Castiel hisses, “know exactly what to do…” Dean pops off Castiel’s cock, licks a stripe up the underside – from base to swollen head – and then takes it. His length stretches Dean’s mouth, not wide enough that it hurts. Enough, though, Dean can feel the beginning aches in his jaw.

His hands come into play again, now that the possibility of chaffing Castiel’s cock lessened considerably. One joins his mouth on the shaft, following when he slides up and letting Dean’s mouth push it back towards the base. The other first rests at Castiel’s hip. Thumb kneading the skin with enough force to bruise. When Dean finds the sounds coming from Castiel unsatisfying, it slides a path down. Dean holds his friend’s balls and when his lips are fully stretched, he squeezes.

Castiel pulls Dean’s head by his hair with a grunt, sliding him away. Although his hips canted forward chasing the loving heat from his mouth. Dean unsheathes the cock from his lips. Instead he drops a chaste kiss on the head, followed by a quick lick at the slit. He hums as the taste of precum sits on his tongue. “You’re a sweet boy, Cas,” Dean says. Drunk with beer on his lips, his skin, and his pants. Everywhere except inside of him. “Love it… love how it’s all for me…”

“It is. Only you Dean,” Castiel says, twitching under him. “Please, I feel it… please…”

Dean chuckles, playing with his friend’s balls and eliciting another moan. “Might as well,” he tells him, “what’s one more mess…” Dean slobbers a few more kisses on Castiel’s cock, heart beating furiously at what pleasure it brings both of them. He feels his own length hardening in his pants, fabric tenting, while Castile grinds curses into dust between his teeth.

Letting go of Castiel’s balls, he scrapples upwards and latches onto the sweaty, dirt-strewn shirt. Bunches it in his fist while he almost tears it. A few stiches ripping open reaches his hears in the midst of pleasure. Dean forgets them immediately with Castiel forcing his cock back into Dean’s mouth.

“Almost… Dean, take me there. Please…!” Castiel gasps, slamming his hand on the island surface. Dean scoots closer into the open space of his legs, sucking on Castiel’s cock with increased fervor. Desperate for his come.

Midway over Castiel’s cock, a new sensation joins the orgy. Someone screams, neither Castiel nor Dean. He opens his eyes and sees Sam standing at the entrance. “Sam –“ he says, choking on the hard cock. With teeth scraping the throbbing length, Castiel loses all control. Come shoots down his throat, Dean totally unprepared. He hauls off the other man’s cock, spitting seed onto the floor while more coats his hair and face.

Sam keeps screaming. “Why are you doing this out here!” he says, back facing them. Frozen outside the kitchen like a guard. “We eat here – we make food here! You two… why? Why?”

Dean remembers. He and Sam were in the middle of watching a movie in the Dean Cave. Nearing the end, Dean’s bladder could barely wait, and he paused the movie. Left Sam while he scurried off to the bathroom. When finished, Dean figured he had enough time for another beer.

Except Castiel was an unexpected obstacle.

“Sam,” Castiel says, curled over, pulling jeans and underwear over his soft dick again, “Sam, what are – I’m so sorry. We’re sorry –“

“No.” Sam points, as best he can, at them. “No, I… I need space. I need time. I need… a drink.”

Castiel shrugs. “There are some in the fridge –“

“Not those.” He sighs, turning partly towards them. Enough for his forehead to rest against the doorway. Eyes screwed shut, he continues. “I think I’ll be seeing that for the rest of my life… I’m – I am going to get drunk. Very drunk. And, if I still remember this in the morning, I will be looking up spells. In the meantime… clean yourselves up.” Sam speeds off, the sound of his steps trailing after him.

Dean wrings his hands, the burning fire in his gut smothered by Sam’s interruption. It’s a low-burning ember. He intends to keep it like that, along with what’s left of his dignity. “That was… that sure was something,” he says, “really… something.”

“Dean…”

“We probably should start cleaning up…” He still sits on his knees. Dean tries standing, except a slight pressure on his chest stops him.

Castiel lays a foot over his heart, smirking. The layer of blue in his eyes thinned further, barely a speck of color left. Dean is shocked into silence. “I enjoyed what we did very much, Dean,” Castiel says, head skewed to the side, “Did you?”

Taking longer than Castiel liked, Dean feels the weight on his chest increase. Knocks him back on his knees. “I – I did,” he tells Castiel, “I really did.”

“I can see.” Castiel’s gaze draws Dean down where his own cock rests, surprisingly half-hard.

His foot pushes on Dean again, and suddenly his ass soaks in the beer-cum puddle. “What are you doing?”

“Sam said he’s going to get drunk,” Castiel says, not letting up with the pressure until Dean’s back is on the floor and he stands over him. “And will, most likely, avoid this place until tomorrow morning. Meaning we have as long as we want before we need to worry about cleaning.” He pulls his foot away, a stain of his arch and toes drying on Dean’s shirt. Castiel lowers himself over Dean, lips an inch away from his. “Since we’ve already made this much of a mess… what’s a few more?”

Dean huffs. His smile blossoming without choice. “That makes perfect sense.” Then he leans forward and kisses Castiel, tongue slipping past and meeting his. Somehow the flavors there mix with the taste of him already in Dean’s mouth, a firework of Castiel exploding and causing every nerve in his brain to melt into goo.

When Castiel pulls away, Dean whines. His hands lazily tug him back, Castiel chuckling while he swats at them. “Relax Dean,” he says, brushing a thumb at the exposed skin above his hip. Castiel kneels between Dean’s legs, grinning. “I’m still here. Just thinking it’s only fair that I have as much a taste of you as you had of me.”

Dean whines further, “Blowjob can wait… Wanna kiss –“

“Dean. Who said anything about a blow job?” Castiel fiddles with the zipper on Dean’s pants, hiking one leg up over his shoulder.

Dean hauls the other one over Castiel’s adjoining shoulder, kicking at his tightly laced boots. “Kissing can wait.”

Castiel pulls at a lace, helping Dean with his right boot. After it hits the floor, Castiel presses a light kiss on the sock-covered ankle. While he works on the left boot, Dean hauls him closer and digs his heel into Castiel’s back. He chuckles, “Pushy…”

“Less being an ass and more ass kissing…”

“As you wish.” Castiel undoes his jeans. Dean watches him through hooded eyes, at peace on the kitchen floor. Even when he feels the remnants of the beer not soaked up by his clothes touch his exposed ass, Dean barely squirms. The mess doesn’t matter. What does is pressing butterfly kisses at his fluttering hole while a finger circles it. Dean sighs, and what was left of his mind fades into the comforting static of bliss.

They absolutely fail to meet Sam’s deadline next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's on that! Hope you enjoyed - let me know by dropping a kudos & a comment below 😁


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